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FRANCES FOWLER. 



BY A LADY. 



HARTFORD: 

F. J. HUNTINGTON. 

1834. 



* Fen h + . - 



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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1834^ 
By J. FOWLER, * 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts- 



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PREFACE. 

This little book, designed as a monu- 
ment to the virtues of an interesting and 
lovely child, is intended merely for a lim- 
ited and gratuitous circulation among the 
near friends and acquaintances of the de- 
ceased : and it is hoped, that by thus being 
brought before the mind, particularly of 
her young associates, a sense of her excel- 
lence may be perpetuated, and thereby a 
salutary influence exerted upon those from 
whom impressions of departed friends, 
though deep at first, too easily fade away. 

It will be readily seen, that there are 
many circumstances here related, which 
could have been known only to her family 
friends: and which, since her death, they 
have delighted to dwell upon. These are, 
with much reluctance, even thus far, ex- 
hibited to the public view. A still greater 
publicity, by a work designed for a more 
general and extended circulation, would 
seem to rob her memory of that sacredness 
which her friends so well love to cherish. 

Still to those most near, there will ever 
remain a thousand tender recollections, 



IV PREFACE. 

which the pen cannot pourtray, and which 
will long continue, as a sanctuary into 
which the mind will delight to enter and 
to dwell, and with which no stranger in-, 
termeddleth. If, therefore, within the lim- 
ited circle for which these little pages are 
designed, the perusal of them shall serve to 
recall to the minds of any a more vivid re- 
collection of the virtues and excellencies of a 
departed friend ; or shall tend to fix more 
deeply upon the tender minds of her youth- 
ful associates, the impression that they too 
must die, and thereby stimulate any to the 
more diligent practice of those virtues which 
adorned her character, and to learn, as it is 
believed she had learned, "to remember 
their Creator in the days of their youth," 
the principal objects of this little publication 
will have been fully realized. 



MEMOIR 

OF 

FRANCES FOWLER. 



CHAPTER I. 

The subject of this memoir was born in 
Westfield, Mass., July 23d, 1822, and was the 
second child of her parents, their eldest being 
a son. 

The birth of a daughter was matter of great 
joy, and awakened much gratitude and praise 
to the Giver of every good gift. She was 
early, and we may believe sincerely dedicated 
to God in baptism. To a believing, anxious 
parent, this occasion is one of tender interest, 
and must call forth the earnest prayer, " Oh, 
that this child might live before thee." 

The parents of this family were accustomed 
to have their children present at the hour of 
family worship. They early learned to as- 
sume the posture of devotion ; and a little, 
a2 



6 MEMOIR. 

playful boy, at two years old, would kneel by 
his little chair, and remain quiet and attentive, 
during the service. While seizing the earliest 
dawn of reason to teach them there was a God 
who gave them every good thing, they knew 
that these impressions would be greatly enfor- 
ced, if they showed that they too depended 
upon God, and daily sought his blessing. The 
habit of prayer was thus early cultivated, and 
it was not regarded as an unpleasant service, 
as one little circumstance will shew. As these 
children became able to understand more fully 
the nature of prayer, instead of hastening to 
their play directly, they often would go into an- 
other room by themselves, separately ; and, 
after locking the door, would spend a few mo- 
ments in prayer alone. 

Of the infancy of this daughter, it may truly 
be said she was a pleasant child. The first 
instance of rebellion against her mother's com- 
mands, occurred when she was about one year 
old. A simple circumstance gave rise to the 
opposition ; and too many mothers would have 
let a like occasion pass, thinking their child too 
young to be governed. But this parent, upon 
much reflection, and from considerable expe- 



MEMOIR, / 

rience, adopted the conclusion that her child 
was old enough to be compelled to obey, as 
soon as it had understanding sufficient to know 
the will of the parent. Upon this subject, 
much has been said, much written, and various 
plans adopted. We know that argument and 
persuasion are more congenial to the feelings of 
a fond mother, than coercive measures ; but 
where we are assured " that foolishness is bound 
up in the heart of a child," and " that the rod of 
correction shall drive it far from him," and also, 
that " the rod and reproof give wisdom ; but 
the child left to himself, bringeth his parent to 
shame," we believe the judicious, Christian 
parent will not do his child such injustice, as to 
omit punishment when suitable occasions call 
for it. And is it not a question of much interest, 
whether a child who is taught ready, cheerful 
obedience to an earthly parent, may not more 
readily, cheerfully, and unconditionally obey 
the commands of Him " whose right it is to 
reign, and who doeth all things well ?" 

But be this as it may, the result in the pres- 
ent instance was happy, though the contest 
was long and severe. More than two hours 
this little child persisted in her rebellion ; but 
a3 



S MEMOIR. 

when she found that nothing but submission 
would do, she became truly submissive, and the 
lion was changed into the lamb. It was then 
that tears flowed, and her little arms were ex- 
tended to embrace her mother, and her sweet 
face imploringly asked forgiveness. Ever af- 
ter, her spirit was as gentle, as mild, as the 
most watchful, anxious parent could have de- 
sired. The writer would not imply that she 
never after this was inclined to error. Like 
other children, she was led along ; but her 
mother's look, or at most a word, was all that 
she required. Indeed, any thing like severity 
always seemed to fill her with terror : it was 
not suited to her gentle spirit. 

The early pail of her childhood was more 
strongly marked by the tender sensibilities of 
the heart, than by uncommon intellectual en- 
dowments. Before she was able to read her- 
self, little stories were read to her ; and if they 
were at all affecting, the impression would be 
so deep and lasting, as to distress her exceed- 
ingly. To avoid this, the story has often been 
robbed of what to others would form its chief 
excellence. 

When she was three years old, her parents 



MEMOIR. y 

left home to visit some friends at a distance, 
leaving three little ones with an aunt. During 
their absence, the youngest, a son aged thir- 
teen months, died. This circumstance greatly 
affected the mind of this sweet child. She 
loved to talk about her dead brother ; and 
seemed to have the happiest idea of death 
imaginable. 

She was again the youngest child, and again 
received the fond caresses and cares of her 
parents. She might, at this time, have been 
compared to wax, which receives whatever 
impression is put upon it. Mrs. Sproat's little 
ditties came in her mother's way, and Frances 
learned them with avidity. The writer has 
often heard Mrs. F. acknowledge the aid that 
this friend to children had contributed to her ; 
and has had opportunities to observe the effect 
produced by her little poems. 

On one occasion, one of her little children 
asked for some raisins, but was told she had 
eaten as many as were best for her ; and that 
she could not have any more. Then her 
naughty spirit rose, and she whispered in a low 
voice. " You're a naughty mother, I don't love 
you now." Her mother went on with her 

■ Al 



10 MEMOIR. 

work ; but repeated, in a tender, touching tone 
these simple lines : 

Why once you were a tiny babe, 

And laid upon my arm ; 
And carefully I guarded you 

From all surrounding harm. 

I wash'd and dress'd you every day, 

To keep you sweet and clean; 
And sung you many a baby song, 

With many a kiss between. 

And when you were fatigued with play 

I hush'd you to my breast ; 
And softly rock'd, and gently sooth'd, 

Till you were lull'd to rest. 

If you were sick at any time, 

Or if you cri'd with pain, 
I kindly watch'd you, night and day, 

Till you were well again. 

I taught you little songs and hymns, 

To make you kind and mild ; 
And pray'd, each day, that God would love . * 

And bless my little child. 

A nd can you now be thus unkind, 

To one who loves you so 1 
Will you not try to please her now, 

In every thing you do 1 

Then God who knows what children think, 

And all their actions spies, 
Will bless you while you live on earth, 

And take you to the skies. 

While her mother was saying this, tears 
ran down the cheeks of the little child ; and it 



MEMOIR. 11 

came and hid its face in her lap, and sobbed 
aloud. 

The sensibilities of most children will be ea^ 
sily moved by such gentle measures, if harsh 
ones have not previously been used ; and even 
then, they may, by degrees, be brought to bear 
upon them. Are not parents and guardians 
too much inclined to judge of the hearts of 
children, by their own, as obstinately opposed 
to good ? We know they are early prone to 
evil ; but then they have no confirmed habits 
to overcome, and they are more susceptible to 
religious motives. Let the assurance of our 
Saviour, that of such is the kingdom of heaven, 
encourage every one to believe that religious 
life should be commenced in infancy. 

Frances loved her mother's society. It was 
rare that she went from home, except with 
her ; and rarer still that she or her little broth- 
ers were left to the injudicious management of 
those who were not deeply interested in them. 

Mrs. F. had many poetic stories, which she 
had treasured in her memory, for the enter- 
tainment of the little group that surrounded 
her. " Tell me a story," is a frequent de- 
mand from these little creatures ; and if we 



12 MEMOIR. 

would store our minds with more of the sweet, 
things that are now written for children, and 
seek for opportunities when they would make 
the surest impression, the slight effort it might 
cost would not be unavailing. It is more pleas- 
ing to hear a mother, or an elder sister, while 
at their work, instead of complaining that the 
little one who hangs about their chair, is trou- 
blesome, and shall be punished for its mischief, 
say, Come and sit by me, and I will sing you a 
sweet hymn, or, I will tell you a story of some 
good little child. The earnestness and em- 
phasis of a mother's voice, will fix truth more 
deeply in the mind of the child, than reading 
the same things by itself. 

In just two years after the death of the above 
mentioned child, and when Frances was five 
years old, another son, aged eighteen months, 
died. His death was uncommonly distressing ; 
and the mother, fearing that the apparent an- 
guish of the little sufferer might too deeply afflict 
the heart of the sympathising child, said to her, 

" Fanny, your little brother is dying. We 
cannot help him ; but he will soon get through, 
and then he will be happy." 



MEMOIR. 13 

u Yes, mother, it seems hard for him to die, 
but then there is no pain in heaven." 

Observing her mother weep, she said, 

u Mother, 1 have read something in my Sab- 
bath-school book, about a little child's dying. 
It said, don't weep for me when I am dead : 
I'm better off than you." 

Going home to God, was her pleasant way 
of speaking of heaven. Many are the dear 
babes who have gone to that bright and happy 
home ; and kind is the Saviour who lias pro- 
vided this home ibr them. 

She was again the young* st : and again hung 
upon her mother as an unweaned child. To 
these circumstances may undoubtedly be as- 
cribed the ardent affection she ever manifested 
for her. Nothing seemed to delight her more 
than the idea of being useful to 1: 

No one who ever heard her, can forget with 
what sweetness she repeated those beautiful 
lines of Mrs. Gilm.i 

11 Mother, how still the baby lies ! 

I cannot hear his breath, 
I cannot see his laushinc eyes 

They tell me this is death. 

My little work I thought to hi in£. 
And sit down bv his b^d 



14 MEMOIR. 

And pleasantly 1 tri'd to sing ; 
They hush'd me : lie is dead. 

They say that he again will rise. 

More beautiful than now ; 
That God will bless him in the skies : 

Pray, mother, tell me lr>w. 

Daughter, do you remember, dear, 

The cold, dark thing you brought, 
And laid upon the casement here, 

A wither'd worm, you thought ? 

Look at the chrysalis, my love, 

An empty shell it lies : 
Now raise your wond'ring glance above 

To where yon insect flies. 

Oh yes, mamma, how very gay 

Its wings of starry gold ! 
And see ! it lightly flies away, 

Beyond my gentle hold. 

Oh, mother, now 1 know full well, 

If God that worm can change, 
And raise it from that broken shell, 

On golden wings to range, 

How beautiful will brother be, 

When God shall give him wings 
Above this dying world to flee, 

And live with heav'nly kings." 

The winter following was one calculated 
to prove her character. Two little cousins, 
younger than herself, became inmates of her 
father's family. It would have delighted any 



MEMOIR. 15 

lover of goodness to witness the conduct of this 
amiable little girl, under these circumstances. 
The law of forbearance seemed to be impres- 
sed on her heart. 

At one time, her little cousin wanted her lit- 
tle chair. " Give it to him, Fanny," said her 
mother, " and take the cricket. " Immediately 
the little rogue put his feet upon the cricket, 
occupying both chair and cricket. " Shall I 
let him have it, mother?" said the sweet child. 

" Certainly, my dear." 

" Well, I will," she replied, " he will not do 
so when he is older, for I do think he is a good 
little boy." 

Perhaps, at this period was laid the founda- 
tion of that excellence which was so conspicuous 
in her subsequent life, the voluntary sacrifice 
of her own feelings, to the happiness and good 
of others. 

Frances was early accustomed to scenes of 
death. Two little brothers had died, and now 
her infant cousin was removed. Her child- 
like expressions thai the dear babes had gone 
home to God, and that he would make them 
very beautiful, would soothe the aching heart 
of her mother and aunt. 



16 



MEMOIR. 



Mrs. F. received these bereavements, as 
chastisements from a wise and merciful parent ; 
and she endeavoured to improve them, by a re- 
newed discharge of duty towards her remaining 
children. She talked much to them of God, 
of heaven, and their dear departed brothers. 

Nor were these conversations to be 
dreaded by them : these were the dearest sub- 
jects to which she could allude. Religion was 
not incidentally spoken of, as a relief to the con- 
science ; but it was the all-important concern 
that controlled the life. 

The mother felt the importance of the truths 
she taught, and therefore taught them more 
effectually. She applied the commands of 
Scripture to herself, and endeavoured to train 
her children in the way they should go. But 
while she carefully and constantly instilled re- 
ligious precepts into their hearts, she placed 
her reliance on God to bless her efforts. And 
his grace did accompany these instructions, 
and ordered all those events which gradually 
sanctified the heart of this child. A lady re- 
marked, that never had she seen a more suc- 
cessful instance of moral culture. 

It pleased God to give Frances another little 



MEMOIR. 17 

brother to take the place of her dear, departed 
ones. 

Her aunt loved her tenderly ; and after the 
death of her own little daughter, washed to take 
her home for a visit, to which her mother con- 
sented. Frances was now five years old ; and, 
while at S., she endeared herself to every 
member of the family, and to all her little ac- 
quaintances. She was very much interested 
in a poor, little, sickly, and deformed girl who 
lived near, and used to carry her presents, and 
fit work for her. 

Her aunt writes to her mother, " I never saw 
Frances more happy. It is a comfort to me 
to have her here, and a pleasure to take care 
of her." 

At a public house where she stopped on her 
return home, a girl came into the room, and 
spent a long time arranging her hair before 
the glass. After she had left, Frances re- 
marked to the lady who was with her, that she 
was afraid that young woman was vain. Her 
delight at reaching home after her first ab- 
sence, is well remembered ; also the sweetness 
with which she met her aged grandfather. 



18 MEMOIR. 

■CHAPTER II. 

Mrs. F., before her marriage, had been 
much accustomed to the instruction of children. 
She had observed the great difference in those 
scholars who had been properly educated at 
home, and those whose education had been 
neglected. She saw displayed in her school 
room, the germ of those dispositions which 
would render society happy or miserable, and 
which would be a source of infinite pleasure or 
of great disquietude. She was therefore, in a 
measure prepared, when she became a mother 
herself, to fulfil her duties with greater fidelity. 
She had read many excellent works on educa- 
tion ; and, as far as the ideas contained in 
them were practicable in her own case, she 
adopted them. An observer of her manage- 
ment with her children, would have said she 
paid little regard to the forms proposed, but 
adhered to the principles when they were 
Scriptural. Scripture principles of education 
are within the reach of all, and are the only 
true guides to a parent. 

Until the summer she was six years old, lit. 
tie Frances had not been much to school. Mrs. 



MEMOIR. 19 

F. regarded it as a charge and a privilege pe- 
culiarly belonging to a mother, to form the 
characters of her children ; and she delayed 
as long as it was consistent with other family 
duties, to put them away from her own imme- 
diate care. The writer has heard her say 
that on the morning she first fitted off her little 
boy for school, her feelings were such that she 
could not controul them, and " gave way to a 
flood of tears." " My child is going into the 
midst of temptation," thought she, " and where 
will he find one so interested as a mother, to 
guide him ? I know I am no better fitted to do 
well by him, than many others ; but who can 
feel a parent's solicitude, but a parent ?" She 
endeavoured, however, to cast her care upon 
Him who cared for her, and prayed that her 
little one might be delivered from all evil, and 
daily watched his conduct to check the grow- 
ing seeds of error and sin. 

Frances cherished a love and reverence for 
the Sabbath. The little ditty, 

11 This day the blessed Jesus rose, 
And left tho gloomy grave ; 
For, Oh ! he died a bitter death, 
Our wicked world to save," &c, 

she would often repeat. 

B 



20 MEMOIR. 

She had a great fondness for dolls ; and was 
indulged in playing with them, as they af- 
forded so useful and innocent an amusement. 

The same taste and order was displayed in 
her baby things, as in her own clothes. Ev- 
ery day, in the hours of play, the dressing and 
undressing of her dolls was regularly attended 
to. They were carried out to visit, and brought 
home again. Bed-clothes were made for their 
beds, and carpets for their little rooms ; boxes, 
pails, and tubs of bark, for their convenience. 
Various other little appendages to her store 
might be named, were it not that our young 
readers are better acquainted with the secrets 
of a baby house, than they are with the secret 
of so controlling their love for this amusement, 
as to make it consistent with other duties. 

On Saturday afternoon, every article was 
carefully laid aside, that she might not be re- 
minded of her play on the Sabbath. When 
asked where were her dolls, she would reply, 
that it was wicked to play Sundays. Her rev- 
erence for the day was so great, that hardly 
any thing could have induced her thus to vio- 
late its sanctity. 

The Sabbath was spent in this family, as it 



MEMOIR. 21 

is in many others, in reading the Bible and 
other religious books, and a regular attendance 
upon public worship ; and by the children, in 
learning hymns and verses, either to recite at 
Sabbath school, or to their parents at home. 

After church in the afternoon, the children 
and young persons in the family, were in the 
habit of assembling in a room by themselves, 
while the mother read two or three chapters 
of the Bible with them. She explained the pas- 
sages they read ; and after they were through, 
she shewed them how they might apply these 
instructions to themselves, and how they might 
act upon them, in the little trials they might 
meet with during the week. 

Then she led her own children into her bed- 
room, and shut the door as our Lord com- 
manded. But into this sanctuary we must not 
enter. It is a sacred moment, a season when 
this mother and her little ones, apart from hu- 
man observation, commend themselves to their 
God, and seek his grace. We ca,n only judge, 
from the subdued and peaceful countenances 
when they mingle again with the family, from 
the sweet confidence which they manifest for 
their mother, that it has been a delightful ser- 



22 



MEMOIR. 



vice. Then, if it is a summer Sabbath, she 
walks with them in the garden, or in a retired 
ground near the house ; and while their little 
hearts repose in the stillness and beauty of this 
holy day, she speaks to them of the goodness of 
their Creator, and guides their thoughts by re- 
peating some of Mrs. Barbauld's hymns, or by 
some choice expressions of the sweet Psalmist. 

When Frances was seven years old, she went 
again to S. to spend the summer, and attend 
school. She was delighted with the prospect 
of being with her aunt and cousins ; but was 
afraid she should not always do right without 
her mother's instructions, and asked her for 
some rules. Her mother prepared a few, such 
as she thought were the most important, and 
printed them for her, as she had not yet learned 
to read writing. The following is a copy of 
them. 

RULES FOR A DAY. 

" When you open your eyes in the morning, 
forget not to praise that good Being whose 
watchful eye never slumbers nor sleeps. 

"If you would be truly neat, you must 
never eat your breakfast until you have wash- 



MEMOIR. 23 

ed your hands and face, and combed and 
brushed your hair. 

" Throughout the day, you must be kind 
and gentle, obedient to all who watch over 
you, and conciliating to your little compan- 
ions. Never pout, never contradict, never tell 
a lie. 

" You must endeavour to recollect, that 
amusement is not the chief business of life. 
Would you be esteemed, you must be wise. 
Would you be loved, you must be good. 

" When your lessons are appointed, never 
rest easy until you understand them perfectly. 

"When you have done with study, play 
moderately ; not jump like boys, to vex the 
family. 

" I would have you always go early to bed, 
that you may get sleep enough to refresh your 
growing frame. When you lie down, pray to 
that God who has kindly preserved you through 
the day. Ask his forgiveness for sins com- 
mitted, and his protection through the night." 

The writer had ample opportunity to ob- 
serve how faithfully these rules were prac- 
tised, by this dutiful little girl. 
e2 



24 MEMOIR. 

She was not ashamed to be seen in prayer, 
though she wished to pray in secret. As soon 
as she was awake, she would put her hand 
over her eyes, and remain silent for some mo- 
ments. After she w r as dressed, she usually 
read a chapter aloud in the chamber. Obser- 
vations that she sometimes made, shewed that 
she read with interest and attention. Once 
she said, " I wonder why Peter beckoned to 
John, to ask Jesus who it was that should be- 
tray him." 

In a moment she added, 

" I guess I know : it was because he knew 
the Lord loved John best, and would tell him 
soonest, don't you think it was, cousin Lucy V 
And then she said, " John was a lovely disci- 
ple, wasn't he ?" 

She was neat, beautifully neat in her person. 
Her soft, brown hair, which formed a natural 
curl around her forehead, she was careful to 
comb, according to her mother's directions ; 
but she never looked as though she thought it 
was pretty. She was very far from any spe- 
cies of vanity. 

When her clothes were once arranged in 
her drawers, they were never displaced. 



MEMOIR. 25 

Those she wore were carefully folded or hung 
up at night. Her school bonnet, and the apron 
which she wore at meals, were never out of 
the place her aunt had assigned to them. In 
this respect, as well as in every other, she was 
held up as an example to the children of the 
family. But this seemed not to make her 
think more highly of herself. 

Little girls of negligent habits, think it very 
troublesome to put things in their proper pla- 
ces ; but if they will practise doing so for a 
short time, a new habit will soon be formed, 
which is both easy and pleasant. They will 
not then have to search all over the house for 
something they have mislaid ; or disentangle 
all the spools in their work-baskets, to find the 
right one. 

A love of order, was a trait to be admired 
in dear Frances. It was this, among many 
other pleasing ones, that rendered her so be- 
loved in her aunt's family. She attended a 
small school while here, and was a most affec- 
tionate and obedient pupil. Her love of study, 
at this time, was not very remarkable, though 
she faithfully attended to her lessons. It was 
b3 



26 MEMOIR. 

a wish her mother often expressed, that her 
children might be good, rather than great. 

In this child there seemed to be a self-ad- 
justing principle, which opposed the cultivation 
of one virtue or faculty, at the expense of an- 
other. Knowledge and goodness were finely 
balanced in her character, and combined to 
form in her a beautiful whole. 

Her sweet face and winning tones of voice 
won the love of the girls at school, even before 
they had an opportunity to know the amiable 
qualities of her heart. All sought her for a 
companion, though she appeared unconscious 
of it. It was her delight to seek out the timid 
and retiring ones, and induce them to join in 
the plays. She loved goodness wherever it 
was found ; and it would seem that she found 
nothing but goodness, from her own manner of 
speaking of her little friends. Certain it is, 
she was so conciliating towards them, that bad 
passions were rarely manifested. When any 
thing wrong did occur, she would not appeal 
to an older person to interpose, until she had 
used every winning method herself, and rarely 
did her " soft words fail to turn away wrath." 



MEMOIR. 27 

Her own face was never distorted by anger. 
It was an index of the purity of her heart. 
Could it be pourtrayed here, it would speak 
more forcibly than words can do, the heavenly 
disposition that reigned within. Her fair fore- 
head was broad and beautiful ; her fine, dark, 
expressive eyes were naturally sunken ; her 
head and face finely formed ; and her whole 
person such as to gratify the fondest wishes of 
a parent. Yet she did not know, herself, that 
she was beautiful. 

A little circumstance proved very beneficial 
to her in this respect, and served to suppress 
that vanity too often the attendant upon a fair 
face. And may not all these circumstances in 
our lives, which certainly spring not from the 
dust, be ascribed to the grace of God, as the 
methods which he uses to lead us from sin to 
holiness, from all that is unlovely to all that is 
lovely and pure in heart ? 

Once being in a store, a person spoke to her 
in a very ironical manner of her beauty, which 
she did not at all understand. He told her 
she looked dreadfully. She went home very 
much grieved, and poured out her heart to her 
mother. "I am willing to be homely," she 
b4 



28 MEMOIR. 

sobbed, " but I cannot bear to be disgusting to 
any one." 

A little girl at school, one day said to her, 
" I am ashamed of my face. I wish it was 
not so ugly." Frances looked serious, and 
replied, " I think it is wrong for you to say so ; 
it looks like finding fault with your Creator." 
She was then six years old. 

The letters she received from home, at this 
time, were cherished and preserved by her, 
with the greatest care. A short time before 
her death, she assorted those in her port-folio, 
and destroyed all that were least important. 

A number from her mother, were among 
those she preserved. There is a fitness that 
some parts of these should be inserted in this 
little work, for the benefit of both parents and 
children. There are those mothers whose 
hearts are so much interested in education, 
that they read with pleasure the memoir of a 
child, and are anxious to discover what influ- 
ences have been so successfully exerted. 

And the instructions they contain, may be 
useful to other children, than the one to whom 
they were addressed. 



MEMOIR. 29 

Some extracts shall be here transcribed. 
Frances loved them, and grew better by them, 
for they were the counsels of a fond parent. 
Our young friends may improve by them too. 

" My dear little Daughter, 

Your dear father returned last evening, 
and we were all made very happy ; and we 
bless that God who has so kindly preserved 
him and us, during our separation. We all 
think and talk much about you ; and your ever 
kind father has purchased a beautiful book for 
you, which I will send by your aunt. 

" You cannot think how much your mother 
misses you, particularly upon this holy day. 
Your little seat at church is vacant ; and then 
when we read, no Fanny is here. But S. and 
I remember you, and commend you to our 
heavenly Father, to whom I hope your pray- 
ers are directed every night and morning. 

" You cannot be happy, unless you lie down 
under his protection, and in the morning ask 
his blessing through the day. God, my dear 
child, will hear little children's prayers, if they 
are offered in sincerity ; and if you love Him, 



30 MEMOIR. 

you will delight to thank him for all that you 
enjoy. 

" I am glad to hear that you learn a little 
French. S. makes haste with his. When you 
come, he will be able, and I hope willing, to 
aid his little sister. 

" I hope you are a good girl in your aunt's 
absence, and do all in your power to make the 
family happy. 

" Thank Miss E. for her kind care of you, 
while your aunt was away. 

" You must try to be a good girl, so that 
when you return, you may make your loving 
mother happy. Kiss H. for me, and forget 
not Your dear Mother." 



CHAPTER III. 

Every Sabbath, after meeting, Frances read 
in her Bible the chapters that her mother and 
brothers were reading at home. As they read 
by course, she kept along with them ; and it 
was a pleasant thought to her, that, at the same 
time, she could be learning the same things 
they were at home. 



MEMOIR. 31 

She was very quiet in her behaviour on the 
Sabbath ; and those who had the care of her, 
were not in the least afraid to trust her away 
from their presence ; for, though with other 
children, her respect for the day would not al- 
low her to do any thing she knew to be wrong. 
She would gently check any rising mirth, when 
she saw it, though she carried a cheerful coun- 
tenance herself, and made the little ones around 
her happy, by telling them stories which she 
had read in Sabbath-school books. At church, 
she was attentive and serious. It was not 
thought best for her to attend the Sabbath 
school in the warm season, as the confinement 
gave her the head-ache ; though when she did 
attend, she was very much interested, and 
wished that others would come. At one time, 
she went with two or three of her companions, 
to procure scholars. They succeeded in ob- 
taining twenty-six. Are not some of our read- 
ers inclined to go and do likewise ? They 
may do much good, by alluring a few poor 
and ignorant children to the pleasures of the 
Sabbath school. 

Frances loved dearly to repeat hymns. She 
made her own selection, and they showed the 



32 MEMOIR. 

prevailing feeling of her heart. A favourite 
one was this : 

" When Jesus Christ was here below, 
And spread his works oflove abroad, 

If we had liv'd so long ago, 
Oh, should we not have lov'd the Lord 1 

Jesus, who was so very kind, 

Who came to pardon sinful men, 
Who heal'd the sick, and cur'd the blind ; 

Oh, must we not have lov'd him then 1 

But where is Jesus 1 Is he dead 7 
Oh, no ; he lives in heaven above ; 

And " Blest are they," the Saviour said, 
" Who, though they have not seen me, love." 

This is another that she loved. 

" ' Let little children come to me,' 

This is what the Saviour said ; 
Little children, come and see, 

Here is where the words are read. 

Often on these pages look ; 

Of the love of Christ they tell : 
Oh, it is a holy book, 

Learn to read and love it well. 

Thus you hear the Saviour speak, 

' Come, ye all, and learn of me ;' 
He was gentle, lowly, meek : 

So should little children be." 

And another ; 

" Great God, and wilt thou condescend 
To be my Father and my friend ? 
I, but a child, and thou, so high — 
The Lord oi earth, and air, and sky V' 



MEMOIR. 33 

This hymn is so familiar to most young per- 
sons % that the first verse will suggest the rest. 
It is a sweet hymn to come from the lips of 
children. Frances repeated it with reverence ; 
and her manner and her life shewed that she 
possessed that same child-like dependence 
which these lines express. 

Another which she loved, seemed almost 
prophetic of her own early death. 

11 The rose, the sweetly blooming rose, 

Ere from the tree 'tis torn, 
Is like the charms which beauty shows, 

In life's exulting morn. 

But, oh ! how soon its sweets are gone ! 

How soon it with'ring lies ! 
So, when the eve of life comes on, 

Our beauty fades and dies. 

Then since the fairest flower that's made, 

We with'ring soon shall find, 
Let us possess what ne'er will fade, 

The beauties of the mind." 

An aged lady often visited in her father's 
family, for whom Frances was very desirous 
of doing kind offices. Of her own accord, she 
would run up into her chamber in the morn- 
ing, saying, M Aunt L., can't I help you ? Let 
me sit down on the cricket, and put on your 
stockings and shoes." This attention won the 



34 MEMOIR. • 

love of the old lady ; and afterwards, when 
any of the family went to see her, she would 
inquire why they did not bring " that sweet 
child." 

Mrs. F. alludes to her, in the following let- 
ter. 

" My dear Daughter, 

Your dear father sets out to-morrow 

for , and by him I have an opportunity 

of sending to you. Your aged aunt L. left us 
yesterday. She had been sick a few days be- 
fore she left, but she thought the ride home 
would be beneficial to her. She is a good old 
lady, and the only sister of your mother's 
mother, and your mother loves her dearly. I 
hope she may live to visit us many times. She 
wished much to see you. 

*I send you a handkerchief, and a piece of 
lace for the bosom of your white frock, if aunt 
thinks best for you to wear it. But my little 
daughter will always remember, thai, a wise 
head and a good heart are always preferred to 
a decorated person. I would have you neat, 
but not showy, in your dress. It is an old ad- 
age, and a true one, that " handsome is that 



MEMOIR. 35 

handsome does." That your life and health 
may be preserved, prays 

Your loving Mother." 

Her mother forbore to implant a love of fine- 
ry in her mind, by dressing her simply, though 
with taste. The same straw bonnet lasted 
through several successive summers ; and, by 
a tasteful remodelling, looked every succeed- 
ing one, prettily as at first. A small bunch of 
artificial flowers was once pinned into the in- 
side of it, which she wore a few times, and then 
asked to have it taken out ; she preferred it 
plain. 

Another letter from her mother, written on 
her birth-day. 

" My dear Fanny, 

This day being the anniversary of your 
birth, I have, of course, thought much of you. 
It is now just seven years since God gave to 
me a daughter. Heaven only knows with how 
much joy I have watched over your infant 
years, how often I have bedewed your cheeks 
with the tears of delight. Surely, I have felt 
something like gratitude for this precious gift. 



36 MEMOIR. 

u Shall I tell you, my dear, what are your 
mother's hopes respecting you ? They are not 
so much that you should he beautiful, that you 
should be wise, as that you should be good. 
Now, my dear, to be good, you know implies 
a degree of wisdom, a knowledge of God, and 
a desire to do his will. This wisdom will make 
you happy, and it is not inconsistent with every 
other kind of wisdom ; but every other kind of 
wisdom will not fit you for heaven without 
this. You will not forget to thank God, that 
he has permitted you to live so long, that he 
has blessed your life with so many mercies. 
Ask his blessing every day, and pray that, as 
older you grow, you may grow more useful. 
Make the happiness of others your studv and 
delight, and so fulfil the law of him who went 
about doing good, and finally died for you and 
i ii<- — for all. Your Mother." 

In the course of the summer, Frances' re- 
ligious feelings were more particularly called 
forth, by the death of Miss E. D., a very val- 
ued member of her aunt's family. Her mother 
came to attend the funeral. The morning af- 
ter she was buried, Frances went into her 



MKMOIR. 37 

mother?! room and said, " Mother. I have been 
into Mias Ek'fl chamber, and there lios her Bi- 
ble open, with her e on it, just as she 

them. I do b irood wo- 

man, and thai die baa goat home to God." 

•• Y( B, ni\ deaf," said her mother, "we have 

i hope thai she was a Christian. " 

And thm, with an endearing I 

and how do 

people hnmr when they are Christians? I am 

i be a Christian, but how am I to 

know whether I am on 

" M ! IK'V.T il 

ling }<>u that ii ; but if;. 

lore God with all your heart, and try to tf 

him by being good* jtou may have the happi- 

s iV<»m the ration of 

befog a child of ( led. Fen wii; • that 

our 8 

indeed, if ye dowhal 

On viNitimr tl, ifl lady, 

1, u I think it shouM be written 

on Ikt g 1 live in I 

While riding one day with I Head, she was 

i a long time silent, appa- 
c 



38 MEMOIR. 

rently unmindful of what was passing before 
her. At length, she said, in the softest, sweet- 
est tone, " I do love my mother, and father, 
and all my friends ; but it seems to me, I 
should be willing to die, and go and be with 
God." 

It seemed as though the sincerity of her 
words was soon tested ; for in a few days she 
was attacked by the same disease of which 
Miss E. died, and, for a fortnight, was seri- 
ously ill. Sweetly patient and submissive in 
her sickness, she lay without a fear or a com- 
plaint, ready to take any medicines that were 
given her. She was grateful for every kind- 
ness shown her, and became very much at- 
tached to the physician who attended her. 

Unwearied were the assiduities of her friends 
to save from the grave so fair a flower, and 
God was pleased to bless their efforts. 



CHAPTER IV. 

She returned from S. in August, 1829, and 
was happy to be again at home, though she 



MEMOIR. 39 

ever retained a grateful sense of her friends' 
kindness while the 

About this time she received a present from 
a gentleman, of a pair of Canary birds. Their 
cage was hung up in a sunny window ; and 
every day Tommy cheered the parlour with 
his s<> 

She loved dearly to take care of them, and 
was \. rv watchful to guard them from the 
and the cold. One very cold night, when the 
family went to bed, tin > taken down 

and placed on the sofa near the lire-place. 

When the boy came in, next morning, to 
make th< ■ and, imob 

red, jumped upon the sofa, thrust her paw 
through the wins, and in a moment killed 
both the poor birds. 

Prai not up, but die was called; 

and, without waiting to dress herself, she threw 
her clothes over her arm, and hastened down 
into the parlour, where she found their poor, 

mangled bodies lying on the door. G rieved 

and distressed at the sight, she ran into her 
mother's bed-room, crying, -.Mother, mother, 
the eal has killed my birds;" and throwing 
her arms around her neck, she was so agitated 



40 MEMOIR. 

that her whole frame trembled. " I wish Mr. 
B. had never given them to me. I wish he had 
taken them away before, then they would not 
have died so cruel a death." 

" I am sorry for you, my child, I will write 
to your father to get you another pair in Bos- 
ton." 

" Oh, don't, mother, don't ; I would not have 
another pair for the world. It is'nt the loss 
that I grieve for, but it is their dreadful death." 
She was afraid the gentleman who gave them 
to her, would think she had not taken good 
care of them ; and, directly after breakfast, 
she put on her bonnet and cloak, and went to 
see him, and, in the most grievous tones, told 
him the sad story. The feathers which re- 
mained, she gathered up, and put them in a 
paper, and wrote on the outside, " Sad relics 
of poor Tom and Cherry." The following 
letter she received not long after, from her fa- 
ther, who was then in Boston. 

Boston, Feb. 27, 1831. 
" My dear Daughter, 

" I was much pleased, some time since, 
to receive a letter from you ; and particularly 



MEMOIR. 41 

to observe the improvement in penmanship^ 
which that letter evinced. For the latter cir- 
cumstance, I suppose we are under obligations 
to your new instructress. I feel much grati- 
fied to learn that you are so well situated, with 
regard to a school ; and trust you will be sen- 
sible of your privileges, and endeavour to im- 
prove them to the best advantage. 

" You are now at an interesting age, and a 
very important one as to the formation of char- 
acter, both for knowledge and virtue ; and it 
gives me much pleasure to add, that your past 
endeavours, in these particulars, have afforded 
your parents much ground of hope, which I 
trust your future exertions will not diminish. 
Remember that this is, with you, the time to 
lay the foundation for future usefulness and 
respectability ; and, if you can constantly keep 
this in mind, and, also, that you are responsible 
for all your conduct, to your Creator and Father 
in heaven, whose all-seeing eye is ever upon 
you, and whose protecting care and kindness 
is ever manifested in your preservation, and in 
the happiness you are permitted to enjoy, there 
is little danger to be feared. 
c2 



42 MEMOIR. 

" I hope you may constantly bear in mind the 
high and inestimable privilege you now enjoy, 
in having earthly parents to counsel, advise, 
and caution you, in this initial period of life, of 
which some of your little friends have been 
partially deprived; and that it is your duty 
always to come to them with confidence, in all 
your little troubles and trials ; and that your 
temper and conduct should ever be governed 
by their advice. Let no thought ever enter 
your mind, nor any act ever be done, which 
you are not perfectly ready and willing to sub- 
mit to your mother's superior judgment ; re- 
membering that she can never have any other 
object in view, in relation to your conduct and 
character, than your own ultimate good. I 
regret exceedingly the loss you have sustained 
in the destruction of your little favourite Ca- 
nary birds. But perhaps they occupied too high 
a place in your affections, and consumed too 
much of your time ; and that their removal 
was necessary, to disengage your affections 
from objects comparatively trifling, that they 
might be more fully and freely extended to 
objects more worthy of your devout affection 



MEMOIR. 43 

and tender regard. Viewed in this light, the 
loss may prove an essential gain to you. 

Affectionately Yours." 



CHAPTER V. 

In speaking of this child's excellencies, it is 
difficult to say which of them were pre-emi- 
nent. She retained a grateful sense of every 
favour, however small, and never said she 
wished it had been better, or that she did not 
like it ; but her sweet and spontaneous " thank 
you," was more than a reward for all that 
could be done for her. 

There was a softness of manner, a gentle, 
unhurried deportment, a complacency of coun- 
tenance, united with clear and winning tones 
of voice, which were irresistible. " Good night, 
dear mother," she would say, as she threw 
her arms around her neck, to give one last 
kiss before she went to bed. The music of 
these words will not soon be forgotten. 

In relating what she had read or heard, the 
most appropriate words ever flowed at her 
command ; and her manner of expressing her- 
c3 



44 MEMOIR. 

self, was in language simply elegant. It is 
presumed that no indelicate expression ever 
escaped her lips. Her modesty and delicacy 
were such, that a lady once said of her, she 
was* the most unearthly being she ever saw. 
She was artless, for she had nothing to conceal. 
" She neither sought to shun, nor strove to 
shine." 

She was ever civil to her inferiors ; and 
could as soon discern beauty and virtue in 
them, as in others. If she met a poor child 
any where, who had no other attraction than 
a look of innocence and mildness, her heart 
would be drawn out in love towards it, and 
she would say, " Look, mother, isn't that a 
pretty little creature ?" Persons who laboured 
in her father's family, remarked her respectful 
manner ; and many were the conveniences 
they added to her baby-house, as bedsteads, 
chairs, tables, &c, in return for her kind treat- 
ment. 

She was compassionate to all, and gently 
tried to soothe those that were cast down ; gen- 
erous, imparting her little store to all around 
her. Her benevolence and compassion for 
the poor were strikingly manifested, in the case 



MEMOIR. 45 

of a poor Irish woman, who had an infant and 
an intemperate husband. She begged of her 
mother some clothing for the infant ; and when 
a few articles were given, her joy could not 
be expressed, though she looked it all ; and 
off she ran to gladden the heart of the sufferer. 
At another time, says her mother, " she ac- 
companied me on a visit to a sick man. On 
our way thither, she looked me pleasantly in 
the face and said, " Mother, I love to go with 
you on such errands. It is pleasant to carry 
comforts to the poor." We found the young 
man delirious, and perfectly unconscious of his 
situation. She appeared greatly distressed by 
this circumstance ; and, on our return, asked 
me if I thought he was prepared to die. 

The appearance of poverty too afflicted her, 
and led her to contrast her own situation with 
that of others, and to express great gratitude 
that she had so many mercies." 

Such feelings had been early cultivated in 
her, by means of the ditties and hymns she 
was taught to repeat. When very small, she 
loved to say : 

" Once I heard a little boy 
Begging for a piece of bread ; 

c4 



46 



MEMOIR. 

When every day and every year 
I am plentifully fed. 

Heavenly Father, what am I, 
That thou art so kind to me ? 

Make me douhly thankful, Lord, 
And always dutiful to thee." 



And: 



" What shall we render, God of love, 

For all the grace we see 1 
The best requital man would give, 

Can never reach to thee. 

Our offering is a willing mind, 

To comfort the distress'd ; 
In others' griefs our own to find, 

In others' blessings, bless'd. 

To tents of wo, to beds of pain, 

Our cheerful feet repair ; 
And, with the gifts thy hand bestows, 

Relieve the mourners there. 

Thus what our heavenly Father gave, 

Shall we as freely give ; 
Thus copy him who liv'd to save, 

And died that we might live." 

She was sympathetic, just, and full of truth ; 
and all these virtues were the result of princi- 
ple, springing from the fear and love of God. 

Something has been said, already, upon her 
love of order ; and much more might be said. 

Her little library contained a choice selec- 
tion of books, for each of which she had an 



MEMOIR. 47 

individual fondness, either because it was so 
pretty a story, or because her mother, or aunt, 
or teacher, gave it to her. To have observed 
their clean covers, and that there were neither 
leaves turned down, nor torn leaves strewed 
about the shelves, one might have thought 
they were seldom read. But school books, 
which were constantly in use, bore the same 
marks of care, and were equally new for her 
younger brother. 

At school, her desk was not only put in or- 
der at night, but it was always arranged. 

A teacher, too apt to feel that it was only 
her province to teach lessons from books, some- 
times reproved Frances for this too great par- 
ticularity, as she thought, remarking to her, 
that it was better to study books, than to be BO 
exact ID their adjustment.' This perplexed her, 
and caused a struggle in her mind, between a 
desire to please her teacher, and a regard for 
this principle of order. But this trait had not 
an undue prominence in her character, nor did 
she ever seem desirous to be praised for it. 

The advantage of early instilling good hab- 
its in children is, that they practise 1 them with 
the more ease, and attach no merit to them. 



48 



MEMOIR. 



that is, do not think themselves deserving of 
praise on their account. 

Frances' example would not have been in 
vain, if it should lead her young friends to im- 
itate her in this one respect. This is not piety, 
it is true ; but piety consists in all the virtues 
combined, and order is not the least among 
them. We see it in all the works of God : 
certainly, then, it is worthy of our attention. 

The most pious persons make a conscience 
of little things. It is said of Mr. Cornelius, 
that all his hand-writing, even to the smallest 
note on business, was executed in the most 
beautiful manner. " One that is faithful in that 
which is least, is faithful also in much ;" and 
the Bible teaches us to cultivate all things that 
are lovely and of good report. Besides, this 
trait in young ladies renders them greatly 
more beloved and more useful in their fami- 
lies ; and what will they not be willing to do, 
to alleviate a mother's cares, and to contribute 
to the happiness of their homes ? 

Frances accompanied her parents, for the 
first time, on a visit to a large town. It was 
on a public occasion, and there was an unu- 
sual degree of bustle and confusion in the city* 



UKMnli;. 49 

and all things wore an entirely different aspect 
from thoi to which she bad been ac- 

customed. The oi strange people that 

I and re-] rved rather to 

distress than to amuse her. She kepteloe 
her modi | and when Ihey were al last 

alone, si; q explanation ofsotne ti 

that had appeared ge KO her. Among 

other thi id, u Mother, how do they 

find time to pray here Btion that has 

■us, in similar situations. 

The winter Following, a lady in N , 

prop 

for a few months, to which - I. Pran- 

tran- 
i her hab bo matured ■• 

make her of little : and her mother 

thought it might be an advantage to her to 

from home. It was hardK going from hone, 

to be with her aunt. Now sh ing 

among 'strangers ; and never, perhaps, was 
there a greater sacrifice of feeling to duty, 

than she at this time exhibited. She would 
much rather stay at home ; but a it m 
thought best) she would 



50 MEMOIR. 

" When she parted from me," says Mrs. F., 
" and I bade her good-bye, and said, Do not 
forget to pray, her little heart seemed almost 
too big for utterance." She attended a family 

school at N , and made good progress 

in her studies. There were several young la- 
dies in the family, whom she loved ; and she 
passed her winter very pleasantly, though her 
heart yearned towards her beloved home, as 
the time approached when she was to return 
to it. 

She often spoke of the kindness Mrs. H. had 
shown to her, pitied her lonely, widowed state, 
and said she was a good woman. 

A little sister, a long-wished-for treasure, 
awaited her at home. She assisted in taking 
care of her, and shewed much kindness and at- 
tention to her mother's and little sister's wants. 

The summer of 1830, Mrs. F. instructed 
her children at home. The mind of Frances 
expanded, and she gave much satisfaction by 
her amiable deportment. 

In 1831, she went to school to Miss J. She 
endeared herself very much to her, and she 
truly loved Miss J. The day before her death, 
she spoke of her, and said she wished she could 



MEMOIR. 



51 



go to school to her again ; " for," said she, 
"she was so good, and I loved her so much." 
Under her instruction, she improved rapidly. 
She seemed to find 

" Books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, 
And good in every thing." 

The first principles of Geometry, Geology, 
Mineralogy, and Botany, were her favourite 
pursuits. She could not walk the streets with- 
out turning over the stones, to ascertain then- 
nature and quality; and the smallest flower 
escaped not her notice. She went with her 
father to a neighbouring mountain, and here 
her joy was without bound. She collected 
many specimens, with which to enrich her cab- 
inet of minerals. These were labelled, and 
arranged in order. 

Miss J., in speaking of her, said she had 
seen many amiable children, but never one like 
Frances. Mrs. F. observed, she was a good 
child, but that she erred as did all children. 

She replied, she could truly say, that if she 
had ever witnessed errour in her, it was not 
the result of design, but from being entangled 
with others. This teacher was a pious young 
woman, and Frances was always anxious to 



52 



MEMOIR. 



be with her at the hour of prayer ; and often 
spoke of the delight she had at those seasons. 

She seemed to have but few feelings that 
warred against the rectitude of her mind and 
heart. To know her duty, was to perform it. 
The question, Is it right ? once settled, and all 
was done. Perfectly systematic in all she did, 
she was perplexed when one duty seemed to 
interfere with another. She would refer the 
case to some one more experienced ; and was 
delighted when such an arrangement could be 
made, as to embrace all things in their order. 

A portion of household work was given to 
her and her cousin (who was at that time liv- 
ing in the family,) to do every morning, before 
they went to school. Rather through inad- 
vertence, on one occasion, her cousin was sent 
on an errand, and the whole devolved on Fran- 
ces. 

She was not very well pleased ; said she did 
not think it was quite right ; and objected to 
performing more than her part. Her mother 
.reasoned with her, saying that it was not more 
than she could do, and that she must learn to 
sacrifice her feelings to the wishes of others ; 
and kindly bade her do it, which she did. In 



MEMOIR. 53 

the afternoon she came, of her own accord, 
with a confession of her fault ; and her tears 
showed she was truly penitent. 

She loved to think well of all ; and her ten- 
derness for the reputation of others, was un- 
common. Oftentimes, when she wished to 
speak of some occurrence that reflected upon 
the character of another, she would take her 
mother alone, and say, " Mother, I am sorry 
to say it, it is not that I wish to tell things to 
the injury of another, but you have often told 
me that I might tell you any thing." And it 
was many times delightful to see the charitable 
construction she would put upon actions she 
could not approve. 

'She often attended upon the sacrament of 
the Lord's supper, and always seemed inter- 
ested. When she was eight years old, after 
returning home from a communion season to 
which she had remained, she said timidly, 
"Mother, what is necessary, that one may 
partake of the Lord's supper ?" 

" Love to the Saviour, is the surest test of 
discipleship," replied her mother ; « for our 
Saviour said, <If ye love me, then are ye my 
disciples indeed.'" 



54 MEMOIR. 

" Well, mother, I am sure I love the Sav- 
iour, and I think I should love to go to the 
communion table with you. Do not little chil- 
dren sometimes ?" 

" They may, if they truly have piety. You 
must think much upon these things ; and if you 
wish it, I will request our minister to talk with 
you upon the subject." 

But she seemed to shrink from the idea of 
exposing her feelings to any one, save her 
mother ; and nothing farther was said respect- 
ing it." 

Her fondness for books did not prevent her 
from assisting, in nameless ways, in the do- 
mestic avocations of the family ; and her 
mother had the satisfaction of knowing, with- 
out inspection, that what she had done, was 
well done. Oh, the blessing of a good daugh- 
ter! words cannot express it. The parent 
who possesses such a treasure, should covet 
nought beside. She is, emphatically, " the 
morning sun-light and the evening star of his 
dwelling." Could daughters but realize the 
strength of that tie which binds them to a pa- 
rent's heart, could they but know the happi- 
ness they are capable of imparting, could they 



MEMOIR. 55 

but feel the obligation to live for some good 
end, how much anxiety and sorrow would be 

away! bow much confidence and happi- 

take its pla 



CHAPTER VI. 

Tin: following wint ended an excel- 

lent academy in the place, and improved in 
her stmi wrote in her memorandum*, 

at this time, this little tribute to her parents 1 
, which was bund after her death, 
titude which pervaded 
her hearty towards that ir«>->d Being who had 
grant >manybl< "What a kind 

lather I hav( . Iver 

p lK-ib which : g with ! Mj 

moth very kind t<> in . II 

fill I ought to be i' o- having such kind parents. 91 
EUrliest and most con- 
I companion* They trulj db <<thcr ? 

thou£ of difficulty sometimes oc- 

curr 

On one of these occasions, Frances wrote 
this little note to her friend : 



56 MEMOIR. 

" My dear Margaret, 

" I am sure you think too hard of me. 
What ground have you for the suspicion, that 
I think you are not good enough for me ? 

"We are all fellow-mortals; and do not 
think that I think myself better than you. I 
am far from thinking Lucy not in fault ; but 
you must acknowledge, dear M., that you were 
in fault also. I beg your pardon for all that 
I have done to offend you. I will send a kiss 
by Julia, and we will be good friends again. 

" Good night, my dear Margaret. May you 
ever be guided by a Divine Providence. 

Frances." 

She was in the habit of inserting in a book, 
which she called a thought book, the new ideas 
she had gained through the day. It may be 
pleasing and instructive to some, to read a few 
extracts from it. 

" Jan. 18. I have learned that the reason 
why owls cannot see in the day as well as in 
the night, is because the light does not con- 
tract their eyes. 



MEMOIR. 



57 



« 20. That we enjoy two days more light 
in a year, by refraction. 

" " Feb. 3. That descriptive astronomy re- 
lates to the magnitudes and density of the plan- 
ets ; and physical astronomy developes the 
laws of motion ; and practical astronomy re- 
lates to astronomical instruments and observa- 
tions. 

"4. Have learned how to distinguish the 
tenses of verbs ; and, 

" That persons accustomed to care, are not 
happy without it. 

" 5. That men, in slave-ships, have only 
sixteen inches width ; and the women and 
children still less. 

" 6. That the diameter of the outermost ring 
of Saturn, is 7000 miles, and its breadth 2000 ; 
and 

" That the entrance to the king of Dahom- 
ey's palace was paved with human skulls. 

"7. That Mr. Bruce discovered where the 
Nile rose ; and that the Portuguese first sailed 
round the cape of Good Hope. 

" 10. Learned how to do a sum in interest. 
"11. That the tiger has no feeling of kind- 
ncss about it. 



58 MEMOIR. 

"13. That it is supposed David was an as- 
tronomer. 

" That the Jews have the Talmud, a collec- 
tion of moralities. 

" That pope is derived from pater, meaning 
father. 

" 17. That volcano is derived from Vulcan, 
the god of fire. 

" That Fenelon wrote Telemachus. 

" 20. That the cold is not an enemy to 
plants ; and that plants of the north would not 
thrive at the south, and plants of the south 
would not thrive at the north. 

" 21. That there is a lake in Germany, 
which is remarkable for losing its water every 
spring, which returns with great velocity when 
summer comes. 

"March 1. A meteoric stone that fell in 
Connecticut, weighed thirty-five pounds, and 
was supposed to have weighed more, as it was 
dashed against a rock of mica-slate. 

" Learned, also, that the tides do not have 
as much influence from the moon, when it is 
in the meridian, as when it is passed. 

" 4. That Christ was crucified April 3d, at 
3 o'clock in the afternoon. 



MEMOIR. 59 

"7. That the genitive case in Latin, is 
nearly the same as possessive case in En- 
glish ; and that there is no W in French. 

" 16. That a person in society with his fel- 
low men, is deprived of many privileges which 
he would have, if he did not associate with his 
fellow men." 

This exercise of writing, or the habit of con- 
versing at home, upon the lessons received at 
school, is exceedingly useful for children ; and 
teachers often request that it should be prac- 
tised. If parents enter into it, there may be a 
mutual benefit accruing to both parent and 
child. 

A little boy, with whom the writer is ac- 
quainted, comes home at noon, and when seated 
at dinner, says, with sparkling eyes, " Mother, 
I have learned something very interesting in 
my History to-day. It's about Cortez, shouldn't 
you like to hear it ?" If she says Yes, he be- 
gins, and becomes so engaged in telling his 
story, that, like the philosopher Carneacles, of 
whom children read in their Latin Reader, he 
forgets to take his food when it is placed be- 
fore him. 

d2 



60 MEMOIR. 

In 1832 Frances went again to S. to attend 
school. Her mother writes, " though she was 
gone from me, still she was the object of my 
prayers and my thoughts. I felt more than 
ever before, of how much service she was to 
me when at home; and I really pined for 
her." 

At the time she left home she was anxious 
to have another set of rules ; but a pressure 
of cares forbade her mother from preparing 
them, and she was obliged to leave without 
any. 

" We all felt," says one who knew her well 
at this time, " whenever Frances came into the 
family, that we all needed a renovation of heart 
and life." Nothing discovered to me my se- 
cret faults so much, as this little model of ex- 
cellence. 

" Her gentle manners shewed me my own 
awkwardness ; her kind and sweet tones, my 
harshness and unkindness ; the beautiful order 
in her person, clothing, books, work, and in 
the arrangement of her time and studies, made 
me resolve that in all these respects I would 
amend. 



MEMOIR. 61 

" In the simplicity of her piety, I saw my own 
hypocrisy ; in her heart-felt prayer, my for- 
mality. She regardad me with confidence, 
rather as what I should have bean, than what 
I was. Thus was her life a continual reproof. 
Though I was her teacher, yet she taught me 
many useful lessons. Like our Saviour, though 
meek and retiring, 'she could not be hid :' 
her spirit gave light to all that were in the 
house. 

"Would that her life might be so delineated, 
that others should see her good works, and 
glorify their Father who is in heaven. 

" We were thankful to her mother for so 
precious a loan, and wondered how she could 
ever be separated from her. 

" A part of one of her letters to her mother, 
will show how she employed herself here. 

" ' The school is very pleasant. I will tell 
you what I do out of school. In the morning 
I read in Blair's History ; at noon I draw ; and 
at night, I write my abstract and journal. But 
I have some time to play in each intermission. 
I have had a present of the Memoir of Mary 
Lathrop and Daily Piety. 
d3 



62 MEMOIR. 

" ' I have got into father's way of writing 
without lines, and I can write better without 
them than with them.' 

" Her first care, on coming home from 
school, was to put her bonnet in its place ; and 
the next, to write in a journal, which she kept 
in conformity to her mother's wishes ; and 
these things she always did before joining in 
any amusement. ' Duty first, and pleasure 
afterwards,' was her motto." 

Some friends from Boston came to pass the 
summer in her aunt's family, and with them 
two little girls. In another letter she says, 

" I hope, my dear mother, you are as well 
and happy as we are. I have a fine time with 
Maria. 

" The 4th of July some money was given 
us to spend, in arranging a table in the yard. 
Mary D. and I sat at the head of it. Mr. P. 
was here, and asked a blessing when we had 
set down. 

" We had flags waving, and it was quite 
amusing to see us. But you will find a better 
description of our celebration in the Youth's 
Companion." 

A letter from her mother : 



MEMOIR. 63 

My dear Daughter* 

" I think much of you, and am pi 
to hear that you are happy. I hope you will 
continue to bo bo, for you have many, verj 
many blet i'l I trust ,; ^ r heart 

i something of that gratitude which n< 
fails to make one happy. 

« I hope you are improving 
member you can be y« ung but once, and that 

this youthful period will BOOD b 
anxious then to lay up in Store much for 

fulness, much to cheer in the winter of life. 

■>v child, knowledge is not all 

that I wifl «U I hi told 

you to be good than to 
be great. I feel particularly desirous that you 
should feel the importance of rightly regula- 
ting your temper. I am | that you 

would always do this, could you hut realize 
how much your own happiness and the happi- 
ness of your friends depend upon it. 

"I want you to make it the daily bufl 
of your life. Be honest with yourself; 
with prayer, and the examples you ha\. 
fore you, I trust you will he successful. Early 
attention to this suhject will do much for you ; 
p4 



64 MEMOIR. 

and I would never have you forget, that noth- 
ing so much sweetens the cup of life as a good 
temper, and nothing so much embitters it as 
a bad one. You recollect, my dear, that you 
often asked me, before you left home, for some 
rules for the regulation of your life and con- 
duct. I have not been able to draw off what 
would be termed a set ; but I have given you 
one at this time, and by and by I shall give 
you another and another, and so on through 
life. I hope you will continue to regard them 
as you have always done, not as infallible, but 
as the best judgment of a fond mother, who 
would do much, very much, to make you 
happy. Your affectionate Mother." 

Another : 

" My dear Frances, 

" This summer will doubtless be a pe- 
riod in your life, that your memory will recal 
with satisfaction. 

" I hope, my dear child, that you exercise 
a grateful sense of the favours bestowed upon 
you by your kind friends, but more particu- 
larly, that your heart flows out to that good 



MEMOIR. 65 

God who has provided you with such good 
friends, and who has so abundantly strew r ed 
your path of life with so much good. ' Truly, 
the lines have fallen to you in pleasant places, 
and you have a goodly heritage.' But, my 
dear daughter, God in infinite wisdom often 
sees fit, for our good, to infuse into our cup of 
earthly bliss, some bitter drug. I have not 
suggested this idea to make you gloomy, or to 
fill your young mind with melancholy forebo- 
dings ; but, while your heart glows with lively 
gratitude for present good, I would have you 
endeavour to fortify yourself for the ills of life. 
This can be done in no way so acceptably to 
God, as to resolve all things into his most holy 
will. If you can at all times feel that God is 
your Father, you will cheerfully drink the cup 
that he appoints. 

" If you feel as you ought, you will not be 
happy to live for yourself alone. 

" You must study your own character, and 
judge of it according to the motives which in- 
fluence your actions. If you do this, you will 
feel happier when your conscience approves 
your actions, than when" you gain the appro- 



66 MEMOIR. 

bation of the world ; < for man looks at the 
outward appearance, but God at the heart.' 

" I should love now to give you your go-to- 
bed kiss. Be good ; commit yourself to his 
care who careth for you, and you will rest in 
safety. Your loving Mother." 

The former of these letters alludes to the 
government of her temper ; for, though she 
so uniformly shewed a sweetness of disposi- 
tion, yet it might be seen, from her prayers and 
private conversations, that it cost her frequently 
a struggle. She has come to her mother alone, 
sometimes, and said, "I do not feel happy, 
mother." "Cannot you trace your unhappi- 
ness to some neglect of duty, Frances ?" " I 
am almost discouraged. I am afraid I never 
shall subdue my temper." " Well, my child, 
you must never give over striving, and you 
must pray for strength to subdue your easily- 
besetting sin." "Mother, I will try." 

The children were taught at home on the 
Sabbath, and they called it their Sabbath 
school. They learned to sing from the Juve- 
nile Lyre, many sweet hymns. 



MEMOIR. 67 

"All the week we spend 

Full of childish bliss ; 
Every changing scene 

Brings its happiness," &c, 



was one. And another : 



11 How sweet is the clay, when, leaving our play, 

The Saviour we seek ! 
The fair morning glows, when Jesus arose, 

The best in the week " 

And another : 

11 Our Father in heaven, 

We hallow thy name ; 
May thy kingdom holy, 

On earth be the same." 

Frances often expressed the delight these sea- 
sons afforded her. 

The clergyman who has written a prefatory 
letter to this little memoir, saw Frances very 
frequently when she was at S., and became 
very much interested in her character. He 
had many pleasant conversations with her, and 
many opportunities to observe her piety at 
home and abroad ; and his own daughter, 
Mary D., of whom she speaks in one of her 
letters, was often with her ; and it was pleas- 
ant to watch the dawn of an early friendship 
between them. With her, Frances spent one 
of her vacations ; and she anticipated a visit 



68 MEMOIR. 

from Mary, at her own house, in return. But 
Mary will not see her there. Every one mis- 
ses her sweet face there now. 

" "lis gloomy all the day, now she is flown, 
And voiceless things will say, Alone, alone." 

She was in the daily practice of those du- 
ties which Christians love. Her mother says, 
" I often talked with her upon the subject of 
prayer, but could never discern any thing of 
a Pharisaical spirit in her ; and when engaged 
in this duty, her expression and manner would 
surprise and delight me. I could not but feel 
that she was taught of God. I have some- 
times asked her what the phrases she used, 
implied. Her answers were given with much 
modesty, and were always satisfactory. Her 
prayers varied with varying circumstances. 
She prayed for her little companions, for the 
Sabbath school; for the universal reign of 
Christ's kingdom, that Ethiopia might stretch 
out her hands unto God ; for her good minis- 
ter ; that all sin might be done away, particu- 
larly the sin of intemperance ; for each member 
of the family ; and for orphans, that God would 
be better to them than earthly parents." 



MEMOIR. G9 

CHAPTER VII. 

After her return home, she entered Miss 
B.'s school. The last year of her life was 
one of much study, and uncommon dcvelope- 
ment of character. In the spring of 1833, her 
health seemed to decline, and she was afflicted 
with tooth-ache a good deal. She threw on 
her bonnet hastily, one morning, as if afraid 
her resolution would fail her, and said, " I am 
going over to the doctor's to have my tooth 
out." Her mother would have gone with her? 
but she saw that she had nerved herself to go 
alone. Soon she returned, with an agitated 
voice and trembling frame. " Mother, it's out, 
and I am glad, but it hurt me dreadfully." "I 
felt," says her mother, "a strong desire to 
press her to my heart, and tell her how much 
her fortitude delighted me ; but I forbore, lest 
it might destroy her humility. I merely told 
her I was pleased she had had it drawn, and 
tried to compose her agitated feelings. But 
her system appeared to be debilitated, and in- 
clining to nervousness. For fear that she had 
been too closely confined in school, and that 
her intense mental application had been too 



s 



70 



MEMOIR. 



severe, she was removed, in order to try the 
effect of exercise in the open air. She became 
better, though she was rather thin in flesh, and 
had less colour than usual ; but as she was 
growing rapidly, this excited no fears. About 
this time, a friend, who, in consequence of a 
tumour, was subjected to a painful operation 
while on a visit to her father's house, greatly 
interested her feelings. Though she saw no- 
thing of the distress occasioned by the opera- 
tion, yet the circumstance took such hold of 
her sensitive soul, that when she retired to her 
room at night, she asked her mother to accom- 
pany her, saying that she felt dreadfully. 
"What is the matter, my dear?" "Why, 
mother, I cannot forget Mrs. B.'s sufferings, 
and I am very nervous." " You must try to 
compose yourself. Try to think of something 
else." " I have tried, but I cannot command 
my thoughts, and you do not know how I feel. 
I certainly would not give you trouble, my 
dear mother, if I could help it," said she, weep- 
ing. " My dear child, you must pray to be 
delivered from these unhappy feelings." " I 
have, but they have fast hold of me. Will 
you lie down with me, and pray for me?" 



MEMOIR. 



71 



. F. did so, and she seemed composed, and 
Iher an affectionate good-night 

Thii ' l '* 

d t«» fear thai firaifr 

, had hoped :' Jth ; and that 

anxiety and pain would be tin- attendants upon 

fferingi of oti* 

..ith far g I than at 

prei ioofl p'-riod. 

She read books with KtJT, particu- 

lar! rf - M;ul:,: 

-11, and Mad- 

Mr, w . B could hardly 
delight e 

y. Which had coin: 

with her tittl : •' m,1 

r than is 
common for childi 

I leauauf vol on - m :m ^ r - 

i commit her poetry to men 
It was a practise in Mm !».'> achool to 

Write poetry; and many of her scholar 
quired their first love for it, from this exei 



72 MEMOIR. 

It evidently refined their tastes, and softened 
their manners. 

11 Leaves have their lime to fall," ^c, 

Frances had learned, and was to recite at one 
of their examinations* 

Qn this occasion, she asked if she might 
th of flowers, as all her little com- 
panions won* to wear one. u l havenoob- 
jections," said her mother, M to your wearing 
natural flowers; they are God's gift, and it is 
right that we Bhould esteem them. But the 

fairest flowers BOOB fade, and their frailty 

i!,l teach us I f humility." In a 

moment the wreath was formed and adjusted ; 

and, without viewing herself at all, she said, 
with a thankful tone, " Thank jrou, dear mother, 
thank you." This was her first i any 

thing like embellishment. Never did wreath 
adorn a fairer hrow than this. A slight hlush 
Rised her cheek, as she modestly, but with a 
calm self-possession, advanced to perform the 
part assigned her at the examination. The 
instant her clear, rich, and melodious tones 
caught the ear of the audience, every noise 
was hushed, and a breathless silence ensued, 



ran 

r-mciation and 
intel rnan- 

I into 

i the 
motl 

could not at once 
i she was , l JU t that 

lingfl which n 
by ■ -ings of g 

so en. 

.1 had fullv 

•PP 1 iliti.'.s of her beart, but not 

ind. I I r\ ]cr 

M ai d • iijnymrnt, than I had 

' fill, and ft was 

: ; but b 

m kaow] 
I bar to be (armor 

n, such as is 
10 those that o. 

I uder Miss \). acquired a 

111(1 tacil i tinrr compositions. 

I 



74 MEMOIR. 

Most of her little productions she destroyed. 
The few that remain are characteristic of her- 
self, and our young friends may read them. 
Words were sometimes given by the teacher, 
to be used in composition ; and a few senten- 
ces, transcribed from Frances' book, will show 
that she understood their meaning and adapta- 
tion. 

" There was once a king, who had for his 
dominions, a circuit of about five hundred 
miles. His prime minister was a wicked old 
man, who often bore testimony against the in- 
nocent, because he was afraid that his own 
wickedness would be discovered. This nation 
had acquired great strength, by being several 
times miraculously delivered from their ene- 
mies, who, for several years, like a worm, had 
been trying to destroy them. This country 
abounded with very pure honey ; and the in- 
habitants were remarkable for their gentleness, 
and had acquired a knowledge of the true God, 
which was nearly perfect ; and they worship- 
ped him by singing psalms." 



MEMOIR. 75 

" A young man was once brought before a 
tribunal, because the murder of a demagogue, 
who was a very tyrannical tyrant, was ascribed 
to him. The court was about to decide that 
he was an assassin, when his wife came run- 
ning in, in her morning dishabille, and produced 
the assassin, who was a member of a sinister 
council that had tried to form a democratic 
government. The judge being his implacable 
enemy, accelerated the sentence that he must 
die. This menace was not unexpected, for. 
calumny had always deeply shaded the name 
of the murderer." 

The three following are among her efforts 
at composition : 

" God is a Being of infinite wisdom and 
goodness. It was he who created the world 
and all that is in it, from the little ant to the 
great elephant. He created man a rational 
and intelligent being. He placed him in the 
beautiful garden, Paradise, or the Garden of 
Eden ; and man wishing for a companion, he 
created woman. God did not wish them to be 
idle, nor did he wish them to do too much work 



76 



MEMOIR. 



for their good ; so he gave them the garden 
to till and cultivate, and he gave them permis- 
sion to eat of all the fruit trees but one. They 
had fruit enough without this ; but, alas ! they 
ate the forbidden fruit, and God turned them 
out of this beautiful garden, and said that they 
and all their race must die, but that he would 
send his Son to die on the cross to save sin- 
ners. Accordingly, eighteen hundred and thir- 
ty-three years ago, Jesus Christ left the bosom 
of his Father, and came down into this world 
in the form of a humble Nazarene. He lived 
to be about thirty years of age, when the 
wicked Jews took him and killed him. In all 
his trials, he was never heard to utter an angry 
word, but was always meek, mild, and gentle. 
God is eternal, omnipresent, omniscient, just, 
and merciful ; and he looks on sin with the 
greatest abhorrence and hatred. God is a 
spirit, and is to be worshipped in spirit and in 
truth ; for he knows all the thoughts and in- 
tents of our hearts." 

" THE LILY OF THE VALLEY." 

" The " Lily of the Valley" is an emblem 
of purity and seclusion. It is a very beautiful 



MEMOIR. 77 

flower, for it is perfectly white ; and it blooms 
early in the spring. There was once a little 
girl who, in regard to purity, might be com- 
pared to the Lily of the Valley. No false- 
hood had ever polluted her tongue ; and, added 
to the purity of the Lily of the Valley, she 
possessed the violet's modesty. Every morn- 
ing she rose with the sun, to feed a pair of 
Canary birds her father had given her ; and 
even the little birds knew her step, it was so 
light and joyous. At most of the little festi- 
vals of the village, Rose was present ; and If 
she was detained by sickness or any other 
cause, there was no pleasure in the party. 
Rose had no brother or sister, and she was the 
pet and darling of the whole house ; but this 
did not spoil her, for her disposition was some- 
thing more than common. She was a very 
bright scholar ; and when she attained her 
nineteenth year, like Giaevra, she gave her 
hand, with her heart in it, to William Gray. 
They lived many years, and became the pa- 
rents of three beautiful children, Henry, Susan, 
and Emma. Mrs. Gray and her husband both 
died at the age of seventy-five. Their fune- 
rals were attended by great crowds of mourn - 
e2 



78 MEMOIR. 

ers ; and even now, their memories are cher- 
ished and respected. There is great reason 
to hope they have gone to a far brighter world 
than this, to sing the praises of their heavenly 
King. Never more will they be tempted or 
tried, but forever will sing, ' Glory to the Lamb 
who has purchased salvation.' " 

A DIALOGUE. 

Lucy. — Come, Harriet, Mrs. Ashton, the 
milliner, has just arrived from New-York ; and 
I have heard that she has an elegant assort- 
ment of bonnets, all in the newest fashion. 
Make haste, Harriet, make haste. 

Harriet. — No, Lucy, I am busy, and cannot 

L. — And pray what are you about ? You 
must be engaged in something very interest- 
ing, I think. 

Julia.— Why, Lucy, don't you know she is 
learning her history lesson? You must not 
disturb her, child. 

L. — Learning her history lesson ! I can't 
spend time to learn my history lesson, this 
morning ; I had rather go and see the new 
fashions. 



MEMOIR. 



79 



J. — So had I, much rather. 

H % — I can only say, that the pleasure of 
having learned my lesson, and gained the ap- 
probation of my governess, exceeds all the 
pleasure I should have in going to see the new 
fashions. 

J. — Yes, I suppose you had rather sit mum- 
med up here, than to go out any where. Last 
spring, when all the fruit trees were in blos- 
som, the grass springing up, and every thing 
looking gay, you sat up in your chamber 
alone, studying, I suppose, for I know of no- 
thing else that you could have been doing ; 
and you did not venture to go out but once or 
twice, except to go to school. 

H. — O, Julia, ycu cannot, you do not be- 
lieve that I am insensible to the beauties of 
nature. Ah ! no, far from it. When I sat in 
my chamber, I felt quite as much pleasure as 
I should have felt in the open air. My win- 
dows were raised ; and though I was employed 
with my books, yet I occasionally dropped 
them to listen to the sweet music of the feath- 
ered tribe. 

" Come, gentle spring, etherial mildness, come, 
And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud, 

e3 



80 MEMOIR. 

While music wakes around, veiled in a shower 
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend." 

L. — Quite a burst of eloquence, Miss Har- 
riet, and a quotation from Thompson too. I 
did not know that you could be roused from 
your books long enough to speak like that. 

J. — It certainly is a strange catastrophe. 

H. — Why strange ? Do you think, that be- 
cause I try to get my lessons, I can never be 
animated ? 

J. — I do not think it follows of course, that 
you cannot ; but I do not think that you are 
often very much animated. I should not think 
you would like to be studying all the time. 

L. — To please our governess, or any body 
else. 

H. — Perhaps it is not so pleasant as play, 
or light conversation ; but my motto is, " Duty 
first, and pleasure after." 

J. — And pray what do you do when your 
pleasure hour comes ? 

H. — Sometimes I read, sometimes T play. 

L. — What do you read ? Novels ? 

J. — Why, Lucy, novels ! Do you suppose 
she reads novels ! 

Hi— Why not? 



MEMOIR. 81 

J. — I presume you think they are injurious 
to the mind. 

H. — I do not think all are. I read some. 

L. — I do not think you will get your history 
lesson this morning, if we stay talking here 
much longer. For my part, I must go. Come, 
Julia, I think you are going to accompany me. 

J". — I should be very happy to go, but my 
mother wishes me to finish my bag this morn- 
ing. 

L. — Well, then, I must go alone. Cannot 
you go, Harriet ? 

H. — No, Lucy, I have not finished my les- 
son. 

L. — Well, then, good morning. 

J. — Good morning. I wish you a happy 
time. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

In the early part of October, the parents of 
Frances were absent a fortnight, on a visit to 
New-York. 

On their return, the family awaited them at 
the door, and joyful embraces followed. 
e4 



82 MEMOIR. 

" When Frances came bounding out to meet 
us," says her mother, " I folded her again and 
again to my heart, and wondered that I was 
entrusted with so choice a blessing. " 

She was very much engaged at this time, 
in learning Miss H. More's "Search after 
Happiness." She met with her cousin on Sat- 
urday afternoon, to rehearse their parts ; and 
when Lucy M. repeated the lines, 

" Here's the happy she, 
Whom Heaven most favoured, when it gave her thee," 

her own heart beat in unison with the words, 
and she expressed what every little girl in the 
village would have wished to say to their fa- 
vourite companion. They were preparing for 
another examination, but before it came, Fran- 
ces was taken from their midst. God had 
other designs for her, and other employments. 
It would be well for us always to remem- 
ber, that " God's thoughts are not as ours, nor 
his ways as our ways ;" then we should lay 
our plans with less certainty. 

She had now reached the age of eleven 
years, and was giving every year more joy to 
her parents, and giving promise of great use- 
fulness to the church and to society. Her mind 



MEMOIR. S3 

had expanded and strengthened, and shewed 
no inconsiderable intellectual end . For 

what purpose were they d< signed, if n« w 
was to be removed ? Piety is necessary, if 
are to die; but will not kn< 

acquired in vain ? No ; for ( i 
infinite know! well as infinite holin 

and he is pleased that our mii | 1 be 

stored with it. He formed our intellects, and 
will delight in their cultivation. 

It would be gratifying to some of our 
crs to kn hing of the last days of this 

lively child, but she was not permitted to add 
to the weight ofei . Her 

life, though so short, had spoken volumes ; and 
her heavenly Father saw fit to remove her, 
without her even suspecting his designs. Her 
illness was hut of a ; .she was 

mostly deprived of res the same pa- 

tience and sweet subm . lor suilL 

which had ever characterised her, was con- 
spicuous ; and although this seemed a gi 

avation, yet her parents had call 

her comparatively blameless life, 
soled in the belief; that God was only about 
to take her to himself. And when hcv sv> 



84 



MK.MOIR. 



spirit was released, it undoubtedly was re- 
ceived into the bosom of her much-loved Sav- 
iour, there to dwell, until, at the resurrection, 
it shall reanimate the id rise to 

a glorious immortality. Long will her mem- 
be cherished, not only in the sorrowing, 
bereaved hearts of her parents, but by all who 
knew and appreciated her worth. 

Here we must leave Trailers; and where 
could we wish to have her, but resting on the 

bosom of her Saviour, the friend of little chil- 
dren, their best friend, to whom we commend all 
readers of this little book, hoping that the 
example s t before them will be imitate;!, so far 
as it fbrmable to the only perfect model 

I US. 

In the perusal of the subjoined letters, the 

reader may find abundant testimony of the fa- 
vourable estimation in which the character of 
the departed was viewed by ethers, well com- 
petent to judge ; and that this tribute to her 
memory, although the offering of partial friend- 
ship, is not more highly coloured than I 
plain and sober truth will fully sustain. 



»IR. v ."> 



A Letter ft vick : 



Sto< 
;»s, 
It ifl imt in I 

a, that 1 i 
in the u 

■uly balm, in 

liav' : bill it ifl a pi 

. nd to m 

am ised die 

row whi ni of 

and 

impren 

Urendmg 
light 

. 
where L r ' 

the full vision of that goodness, i 
so pure l 

no longer wit 

what jrou now endure. She can 



86 



MEMOIR. 



no longer participate and constitute your joys 
here, 

" Earthly, brief, imperfect joys," 

but she awaits you in eternal joy, in those 
mansions prepared for you, by Him who is 
touched with a feeling for the infirmities that 
now make )^ou weep and lament. Her tender 
and sensitive spirit is no longer here, to unite 
with you in lamenting the ravages made in 
the human family, by sin and sorrow ; but 
she is beyond temptation, beyond all sorrow, 
reposing, and safe in the bosom of infinite love, 
love which even yours for her, intense as it 
was and is, but faintly shadows. She has been 
taken in the beautiful morning of her days, but 
how few, in a long life, have fulfilled such a 
mission as hers ! She has made you feel as 
none but one so pure and blameless as she 
was, could make you feel it, the blessedness of 
affection. She has filled your home with hap- 
piness. She has left your children the light 
of her example. Wherever she has been, she 
has left the impression of a good being. She 
has shown what human nature may be, what 
the mind may be when the heart is its fellow- 



MEMOIR. 87 

worker, and what the heart may be when di- 
rected by a superior intelligence. Every one 
who knew her here, has some sweet look of 
hers, some seasonable word, gently spoken, 
engraven on their memory. Her every look 
and movement seemed to breathe of a purer 
world than this ; and this beautiful, this rich 
gift, my dear friends, was yours. Eleven 
years of your lives have been blessed by the 
possession. At present, for a little while, you 
cannot see her ; but she was and is yours. Is 
it not so ? Is she not, even now, more con- 
stantly with you, than when the mortal invest- 
ment of her sweet spirit was before your e\ 
You have, and # I am sure you feel that 
you have, far more cause for gratitude than 
mourning. It is inscrutable to us, that a be- 
ing so capable of improving the world, of in- 
creasing happiness, of doing good in a thousand 
ways, by an enlightened, orderly, religious 
mind, should be thus early removed. This is 
indeed inscrutable ; but may you, my dear 
friends, may we all, from the bottom of our 
hearts, drinking in the spirit of our Saviour, 
say, God's will be done. God grant you his 
peace in your sorrows, and enable you cour- 



8S MEMOIR. 



ageously, and with undiminished zeal, to per- 
form your duties to the children he has left 
you, so that the death of your dear child may 
not be less blessed to you, than her life has 
been. 

My affectionate remembrance to your son. 
Much as he may feel, he cannot estimate his 
loss. If there is any thing that can stimulate 
and fortify the virtue of a young man, it is 
such a sister as Frances was. Will you re- 
member me very kindly to your sister, and 
tell her I know how an aunt may suffer. For- 
give me, if I have intruded too long upon you, 
and believe me, Yours, truly, C. M. S. 

Letter from Rev. L. D. 

Boston, Nov. 8, 1833. 
Dear Mr. and Mrs. F., 

We have heard of your affliction, in 
the death of your dear Frances ; and we feel 
that your loss is great, for we knew her as a 
beautiful and lovely child. But, my dear 
friends, although she was so pleasant to you 
in your house, still I think, on reflection, 3/ou 
can more cheerfully submit to this affliction. 



MEMOIR. 89 

than if she had been a wayward child. If 
such had been her character, and you had 
had no evidence that her temper and heart 
were subdued and heavenly, what would be 
your reflections now, in regard to her condi- 
tion in eternity ? According to the Scriptures, 
could you believe that her spirit was in heav- 
en? But now, having witnessed yourselves 
the sweetness of her disposition, the loveliness 
and humility of her deportment, and (may I 
not say,) her piety toward God, and her faith 
in the Lord Jesus Christ, have you not consola- 
tion and hope, in regard to your dearly beloved 
child, that she has gone home to her heavenly 
Father's house, where mansions are prepared 
for her, by our blessed Lord, eternal in the 
heavens ? If so, it does appear to me that 
your sorrows are in some measure alleviated. 
Should you sometimes fear that, in the fond- 
ness of parental love, you have too highly ap- 
preciated her loveliness, and that she might not 
have appeared to others as she appeared to 
you, it may afford you some reason to think 
that you have not esteemed her too highly, 
that we, who have had opportunities of obser- 
vation upon her character when she was re- 



90 



MEMOIR. 



moved from parental care and restraint, and 
exposed to some temptations which might not 
have befallen her at home, and subject to va- 
rious little every-day trials of her temper and 
heart with other children, regarded her as a 
heavenly-minded child. We loved her much, 
and should love to think that we were often to 
meet her in our journeyings through this 
world ; but we believe she is more beautiful, 
and more lovely, and more happy now, than 
she could have heen on earth, and we cannot 
mourn as those without hope ; nor could we 
forbear to break in upon your grief and sor- 
row, so far as to write as above. Please to 
accept it as an expression of love to you and 
to your dear, departed child, and of our grati- 
tude to the Saviour. 

Most affectionately, Your Friend, 

L. D. 

Letter from Mrs. L. W. D. 

Boston. 
My dear, afflicted Friends, 

Would that I could take you by the 

hand, mingle my tears with yours, and hear 



MEMOIR. 



91 



you talk of our dear, departed Frances. De- 
parted ! Can it be, that we shall behold her 
sweet face no more? no more witness her 
meekness, patience, and gentleness ? Oh ! my 
friends, she was indeed a "polished corner 
stone," fitted for the paradise of God. 

My heart bleeds for the mother. Her fairest 
flower nipped in the bud, her brightest orna- 
ment removed from her side. I fear my re- 
bellious heart would have cried, " Spare, Oh, 
spare this child ;" but I trust you have been 
enabled to say, " It is the Lord." 

I feel, my friends, that this loss is not con- 
fined to your family. All who associated with 
this dear child, must share it. The summer 
that she passed with us at S., I felt it to be a 
great privilege to have my children experience 
the benefit of her example. They will not 
soon forget her. 

May He who has thus lacerated your hearts, 
heal them by the rich supplies of his grace, is 
the prayer of your sincere friend, 

L. W. D. 



92 



xMEMOIR. 



Extract of another letter from Mr. D. to a 
friend. 

Boston, Nov. 8, 1833. 
My Dear Friend, 

We have received your letter, inform- 
ing us of the death of that sweet and heavenly 
minded child, Frances F. But it appears to me 
that, great as the affliction, and most unexpect- 
ed and surprising as was the intelligence, that 
the sorrow is turned into joy, hy contempla- 
ting her present happiness, which undoubtedly is 
complete and eternal. What reason have we, 
then, to believe that this dear, departed spirit 
is in heaven ! 

Is it not true, that, in the whole circle of our 
acquaintance among children, we do not know 
one so much like the child Jesus ? and are we 
not taught in the Scriptures, concerning all 
children, that our Saviour said, " Suffer little 
children to come unto me," as though they 
were willing to go, if they were not prevented 
by adults ? and are w T e not told to become 
like them ? The angels, who are ministering 
spirits to the heirs of salvation, are their an- 
gels, and always behold the face of our Father 
in heaven. It does appear to me, from th 



MEMOIR. 93 

triptarebeiealhided to, that 1 1 

and Christ, and li< gard all 1 it 1 1. * 

children very differently from must p 
earth ; and thai such a child aa the one * b 

(, ''«' l! I t<> m«»urn, is, immediately 

in. ] hai d to .Mr. | 

^ , " ' iathy in their 

affliction, and ir ( .} il i ) j t 

• ffhatopportui had ofotarratioo 

upon her i 

It a] 

Id U> OUI 

1 caimol hut ho, I lt 

thus. Perhap 

Hint 

properij ■ympathiae wfth tl 
i 

thank you,dear ,fary, 

and Imp,- that 

EBictioo I cept, 

:uvl whJ pra the immortal 

ipirif children. 



94 MEMOIR. 

From a Lady. 

Stockbridge. 
My dear, afflicted friend will accept a line 
from one who has drank deeply of the bitter 
cup. Our blessed Saviour tasted the worm- 
wood and the gall, and pities and sustains his 
children, while, for their benefit, it is admin- 
istered in larger or smaller draughts, as he 
sees necessary. Your cup, my dear friend, 
though bitter in the extreme, is richly sweet- 
ened. That angelic child, who I have ever 
said was not for this world, is removed to her 
native skies, without being polluted by its vile 
contamination. Her robes were early made 
ready. Her crown and palm of victory are now 
placed, never to be removed ; and you may view 
her as casting the first at His feet, and waving 
the other in triumph, singing melodiously, — 
" Worthy is He who has so early redeemed, 
and placed me beyond the reach of tempta- 
tion, sin, and death." O, could you behold her 
as she is, your tears would dry, and you would 
give thanks to God forever and ever, that He 
has permitted you to bear, to nourish, to in- 
struct, to enjoy, and then to give back one who 



4 



MEMOIR. 95 

doubtless will prove an angel of the highest 
order. May you be enabled to say in sin- 
cerity, 

u She is thine, dear Lord, thy poodness gave her me ; 
She's doubly thine, because given back to thee." 

May we all profit by this grievous dispen- 
sation, set loose all creature comforts, fill our 
davs with duty and usefulness, have our lamp 
trimmed and burning, waiting that bkfl 
summons which will call us to meet our glori- 
fied friends, who were bought with a price far 
■nan comprehension. May the 
(It p of all your hearts soon be healed ; 

and may we all say, M it is good for us that 
We have been afflicted." 

I felt a strange presentiment, when asking 
you why you did not bring dear Prances, that 
1 should see her face no more. God grant 

that WB, and all near and dear t<» us, may i 

where sorrow and separation are no m 
known. apathy, 

M. A. D. 






96 MEMOIR. 

From a Lady. 

Poughkeepsie. 
Dear Aunt, 

In writing, I obey the dictates of a heart 
that feels for you, and all to whom Frances 
was most dear. I must be allowed to grieve 
too, for what seems to me an untimely fate of 
so rare and lovely a flower. But I do wrong 
to speak thus ; for a doubt cannot exist, that 
she was fully matured for that world whither 
she is transplanted. Never did one thought 
of this sad event occur to my mind. Imagi- 
nation has often depicted the future to me, as 
connected with her, and exhibited to my view 
what seemed a model of female perfection ; for 
I never thought of her in connexion with a 
fault. I know not that she possessed one. 
Surely, such a victim, human wisdom would 
never have selected. But it is a comfort, my 
dear aunt, that although God's ways are mys- 
terious now, we shall one day, and ere long 
too, know what he doeth. Meanwhile, He is 
able, and I trust, will enable you all to feel it 
the chastening of a kind Father's rod ; for I 
am confident so heavy a dispensation will never 
remain unsanctified to you and yours. 



memoir. 97 

I bave seen you id affliction, and know full 
well your natural capacity to sustain yourself 

under it. I also know that, without heav< 

aid, you never could, and cannot now, from 
the heart, fed u I !<■ hath done all thinga well." 
That this benign support may be extended to 

. and all under this heavy 1> at, I 

will i to pray. 

C. V. \\\ 

\ Li tter from her teacher to a friend. 

()<■(. -ji.s/, 1833, Monday evening* 
! have returned from Granville, and for 
whal I In season to fellow to the narrow 
house the lovely and the loved, the 
spring tower among earth's fading blossoms, 

the idol of Iht parents, the joy "fall her friends, 

the beloved companion ofher school i s 

/ <har pvpiZt, whose mental develope- 

meut 1 had watched with almost parental in- 
ah of {>!•' - all <»i]«- 

joyous sunshine." No, no cloud obscured its 
the felicity of c 

around her, the opulence, th< 

of character, and tl • 



98 MEMOIR. 

tion of human beauty which she bore, might 
be considered ominous of evil. I never looked 
upon a lovelier countenance. A soft, dark 
eye, fraught with intelligence and goodness, a 
brow more fair and beautiful than human skill 
could chisel or pourtray, a lip most sweetly 
eloquent, even in silence ; and then that unde- 
finable and nameless charm, 

" That sweetness of expression, calm and even, 

Which tells of blest inhabitants within ; 
A look as tranquil as the summer heaven ; 

A smile that could not light a face of sin ; 

A sweetness so composed, that passion's din, 
Its fair, unruffled brow had never moved ; 

Beauty of form, of feature, and of skin, 
But more of sovl ; and loveliness best proved 
By one unerring test, — no sooner seen than loved." 

" A triple wreath" of mental, personal, and 
moral grace adorned her character, which she 
wore with such sweet simplicity, such unaf- 
fected modesty, as if alike unconscious of its 
influence or possession. Wherefore so beau- 
tiful, I sometimes thought, but to show forth 
the perfection of her Maker's workmanship ? 
so rich in intellect, imagination, and taste, but 
to perceive more vividly, to relish more in- 
tensely, to appreciate more justly, the beauties 
of that universe which she seemed almost ere- 



MEMOIR. 09 

ated to adorn ? wherefore so gentle, amiable, 
meek, and good, but to exemplify that con- 
formity to Ms moral image, which human na- 
ture is privileged to attain? Beneath the 
judicious instruction and guidance of a tender 
mother, these native qualities had been de- 
veloping, and seemed to have attained almost 
maturity while yet a child. The highest spe- 
cies of poetic composition she was wont to 
read with a grace and elegance, which I have 
seldom, if ever, known surpassed ; catching at 
once the sentiment and inspiration of the au- 
thor, and seeming to appropriate it as all her 
own . 

Her phraseology, both in writing and con- 
versation, was peculiarly appropriate and cor- 
rect, insomuch that by individuals unacquainted 
with her character and attainments, its origin- 
ality was sometimes questioned. But moral 
excellence was her crowning grace, the charm 
which imparted such a fadeless lustre to her 
character. If love be the fulfilling of the law, 
if the conscientious discharge of duty be any 
evidence of conformity to the divine will, such 
evidence was surely hers. The law of kind- 
ness seemed written on her heart, a high sense 



100 



MEMOIR. 



of moral obligation appeared to influence her 
daily conduct ; and any departure from duty, 
even in others, she was wont to notice with 
expressions of regret. In her intercourse with 
her associates, she was ever amiable, affec- 
tionate, and kind ; and no exhibition of selfish- 
ness, or pride, or anger, do I remember in any 
solitary instance to have witnessed. She loved 
her God, his worship, word, and works. She 
often spoke of the manifestations of his char- 
acter in the natural world ; and her studies of 
Astronomy, Geology, Botany, and History, as 
they extended her knowledge of the Creator's 
works, unfolded to her mind delightful exhibi- 
tions of his wisdom, omnipotence, and love. In 
the genial sunshine, the opening flowers, the 
sunset cloud, the starry heavens, the structure 
of plants and animals, the varied forms and 
properties of matter, and the mysterious laws 
of mind, she seemed to recognise an ever- 
present God. How often I looked upon her 
as a sweet young bud of beauty, unfolding for 
immortality. I cannot tell you how much I 
loved her, nor what an aggravation to my 
feelings it is, that I did not see her during her 
sickness. She left school, in consequence of 



MEMOIR. l(j] 

•I'i, a little more than a week previous to 

her death ; but no apprehensions of serious 

iIJ,! ' daily re- 

g her. Still, from the first, I had bit a 

fearful appn 

Wch it may be ealled,) that she would nut 

, and had r on 

irdayj butcurcume , ura . 

ble to my going on that day to Granville. I 

went accordingly, passed the Sabbath, re- 

turned this evening, and iht 

not in an un- 
known tongue, wl ; fa*!) to 

fan from 
,Vi '' ,1(ls beloved, . dark, aching 

vo " 1 ; but 

tMr « Homing , 10 | 

poftrtroy. I went to the house of death ; the 
bereaved mother feU upon mj id in the 

agony of convulsis [( \ m A t 

d ecmpofl • | [ Q 

bath taken hut what he p j 1]S 

own, and he hath but recalled her." The 
i:l{h ' lav, all 

n ' a,1 > i;,r who so recently had 

Air delighted virion, i n the p 



1()2 MEMOIR. 

session of all that earth could concentrate of 
human loveliness, was now before us silent 
and cold. An expression of angelic sweetness 
was on her countenance, as if her heavenly 
felicity were already begun. A faded monthly 
rose was in her hand, fit emblem of her fragile 
loveliness. I kissed that icy brow, and wept a 
last farewell. 

11 That brow, how beautiful in death ! 
As when the rainbow vanisheth, 
It leaves a soft, a tender hue 
Athwart the circling arch of blue, 
Closed even those eyes : no spirit there 
Beamed forth to chase the soul's despair." 

Adieu ! sweet Frances. Thy brief mortal- 
ity is ended, ere sorrow dimmed its brightness. 
Thou art an angel now, a sainted spirit in the 
paradise of God ; and the precious legacy of 
thy bright example, may it survive to bless 
and to adorn mankind. 

Yours, M. M. B. 



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